


Fire Is Her Water

by pterodactyldrops



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternative Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gen, In Hushed Whispers, Rebellion, Slow Burn, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-12 07:39:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4470881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pterodactyldrops/pseuds/pterodactyldrops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 9:41 Dragon, the Herald of Andraste rode to Redcliffe Castle.</p><p>She did not return until a year later. </p><p> </p><p>(An In Hushed Whispers AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Its towers forever stain'd

Leliana was praying. Ellis didn’t think that would help.

The doors of the hall hung open on their hinges. Demons—the _real_ kind from the Chantry books, the sorts that mages hid from, that Templars struck down, that poured out of the tear in the sky—strolled into the hall. Terror, despair, desire, rage—and even more that Ellis didn’t even _know_ the names of.

They approached. Snarling. Salivating. They were in no hurry. The few people left held no challenge.

There had been five of them once. Five of them, standing in this hall with a dead man’s body and a boy bleeding out. Five, including Ellis, and _how_ had it gone wrong so quickly?

Once, Cassandra had raised her shield high, eyes and face fierce. Iron Bull had towered above them all. Unmoving, unstoppable, a weapon to strike down foes; he let _nothing_ past him. And Ellis? Ellis had waited like a fool next to Dorian, and now the bodies of her two companies were _discarded_ to the side of the door. Like garbage.

Were they cold? Were they dead?

Ellis stared at Bull on the ground. One, two, _breathe_ , one, two, _breathe_. Was that shallow rise and fall of his chest a sign of life? Or was it the demons stomping towards her and Dorian that shook him?

Cassandra’s cheek was pressed against the dirty floor. Blood flowed freely from a head wound. Her sword was tossed half a foot away. Her arm was thrown outward, stretched wide, her fingers twisting in an attempt to grab her weapon. To defend them all.

Would she ever use it again?

Leliana fired arrow after arrow. They sang as they flew through the air. They pierced their targets with frightening accuracy.

It didn’t matter.

The arrows only slowed down the dozen demons and abominations streaming towards them.

Ellis looked behind her. Dorian had been almost glib during their trek through Redcliffe Castle. They would come out on the other side. They only needed to push forward. Keep walking. Keep moving. One day it would all seem like a bad dream, a sick stroll through the Fade. They would make it back. They would make it back to their own time. _They had to_.

But now Dorian looked flustered. Sweat built up on his brow. No comment was perched on his lips—he stayed silent, eyes focused on the pendant suspended in the air. As every moment passed, as each demon approached, the movements of his hands became wilder, more erratic.

Dorian swore under his breath.

Nothing was happening.

A demon neared Iron Bull, arms held high, ready to scratch and claw the last bit of life out of him. Cassandra stayed sprawled on the ground, unmoving. Leliana was still praying. And nothing was happening.

Ellis pulled out her greatsword.

Dorian’s face contorted into a snarl, and he yelled, “Move and we all _die_!”

She took a step forward.

Had something gone wrong with Dorian’s magic? He had said that he needed hours—hours that Leliana had insisted they did not have. They had minutes. Seconds.  

Was it the Maker’s will that Dorian’s spells had not worked? Cassandra had once declared that Ellis was providence, sent to the Inquisition in its time of need. But if that was true, how could the Maker abandon them now?

Or had it been Ellis’s fault? Had she doomed this world the moment she took that step forward?

Ellis heard the little clatter of the pendant hitting the floor behind her.

“ _Kaffas_ ,” Dorian murmured, dropping to the ground, and scooping up the pendant. “What do you suggested we do now?”

Cassandra’s hand stopped twitching, stopped _reaching_ for her sword. Bull’s body was being torn apart by demons. A knife was held to Leliana’s throat.

Ellis threw her arm forward, hand outstretched.

She didn’t know what she was doing, like most everything up to this point. This whole situation—this dark future—everything felt _wrong_. Leliana’s scarred face, the blood on the walls, the red lyrium _growing_ , her two companions injured or worse--it was wrong.

But the shower of green light that emitted from her hand felt _right._ It stung, like a poisoned bite in her palm, but it felt powerful, and the dozens of demons in the room began being tugged towards a central point, unable to escape.

Ellis tripped over her feet as she ran towards Cassandra. She picked up the woman’s sword—Cassandra would need it as soon as she awoke. She skidded to the ground, bruising her knees when they hit the stone hard. She grabbed her, pulled her close to her, and shook.

Ellis’s hands felt warm. They were covered in sticky, hot blood.

If Cassandra was dead, wouldn’t she feel cold?

“What are you doing?” hissed Leliana.

“Seeker Pentaghast,” Ellis said, then shouted, “ _Cassandra_.”

“We must hurry,” Leliana insisted.

Ellis lowered her head to Cassandra’s chest. She pressed her ear against her plate armor. She should be able to hear her heartbeat. She should be able to feel her breathe. Even through the layers of metal and leather, she should be able to _hear_ and _feel_ her.

“We must _move.”_

Cassandra _couldn’t_ be dead. Cassandra was a force of nature. Cassandra was the Hero of Orlais. She was the Right Hand of the Divine. Cassandra had slain dragons and vanquished demons and struck down bandits. She had stood before the Breach with Ellis. Cassandra was their leader, and Ellis was only an agent with a glowing hand.

She _couldn’t_ be dead.

“Fool—”

“ _Quiet_ ,” Ellis found herself yelling, “I can’t hear her breathe when you talk!”

“Because she is dead,” Leliana said, “She and the Iron Bull are dead.”

“They—”

Leliana grabbed her arm. She wasn’t gentle. She hoisted her to her feet, making Ellis stumble, and said, “And we shall be too if we don’t leave _now_.”


	2. Its gates forever shut

They were running.

Ellis’s lungs burned. Her legs burned, her arms burned, the muscles of her abdomen burned, and her hand stung.

Dorian cut a corner short, too quickly. He spun out, shoulder knocking hard into the stone wall. He only barely managed to catch himself, to stop himself from spilling to the ground, in some sort of strange dance. Ellis wondered if there was any of the aristocrat she met a few weeks ago left in him.

 _No_ , she reminded herself. Not a few weeks ago. A year ago.

Leliana paced far ahead of the two of them. She would pause when they neared the edge of a hallway, holding up one hand to still them. She would dart forward, soft soles of her shoes making no noise. If she would spy a guard, she would disappear around the corner only to return a few moments later with a splatter of blood across her face or a long, bloodied knife in her hands. If no one was there, if it was all right for the two of them to stumble forward and began running again, she would hiss and motion for them to _hurry._

Ellis pressed the painful stitch in her side, trying to breathe. She just needed to catch her breath. How long had they been running now? She only needed a second to rest.

But there was no time to stop. _They_ were coming. The demons and the men who walked with them. Ellis could hear the scratching and clawing, the laughter and shrieks and cries echoing throughout the corridors. How far behind were they? How close were they?

“ _Move_ ,” Leliana ordered when she caught sight of Ellis, doubled over trying to breathe. “You cannot stop.”

Ellis’s steps faltered. Every hallway looked the same. Strange symbols painted in blood on the walls, red lyrium and bodiesmelded together in some cruel parody of the Maker’s work. Were they headed up or down? Further into the fortress or out?

How long before the others caught up with them? How long before it was all over?

“Where are we going?” Ellis panted. Her armor made a racket with every step, metal knocking against chain mail, sword bumping against her wide hips. But at least she still had her sword. At least she hadn’t lost that yet.

 _Cassandra made a rattling noise in her throat, caught somewhere between a gasp and a groan of pain. She inched her body forward. She dragged it behind her. Her hand was outstretched. Reaching, reaching,_ reaching _for her weapon—_

“You are _leaving_ ,” Leliana insisted. Her face was barely an inch away from Ellis’s. She tried not to shrink away, but those scars. Leliana’s face had been flawless in Haven—milky skin, a speckling of freckles, and bright red hair peeking out from under her hood. She had been beautiful.

It made the face before Ellis all the more shocking.

Was this what awaited them in this world? Death and scars and wounds that would never heal?

“Herald.” Leliana gripped Ellis’s shoulder. Her slim fingers dug into the sensitive flesh. “Herald, are you listening?”

If they left, who would burn Cassandra’s body? Who would recite the Chant while the wind carried away her ashes? What of Iron Bull? What did Qunari do to honor their dead? Ellis didn’t know. Did Dorian?

“It matters not if you listen, if you stand there uselessly,” Leliana spat. She let go of Ellis’s shoulder, only to grab hold Ellis’s hand and _pull_ her forward. “I am not letting _this_ slip out of our hands as well.”

 _“We found another body!_ ” A voice echoed across the corridors. _“They went this way!”_

Leliana was unforgiving. She wrenched and jerked Ellis forward. Her fingers dug into the sensitive flesh of her palm, and Ellis cried out, “You’re hurting me—”

“Then _move_ ,” Leliana hissed, dragging her, “And perhaps the pain will stop.”

“ _I think I hear them!_ ” another voice followed.

Leliana stopped abruptly at a staircase. Cool air rushed upwards towards them. Leliana barely peered down, barely checked for any danger, before pulling Ellis along. Dorian followed silently.

“Then what?” Ellis whispered to Leliana, almost tripping down the stairs. “We _move_. We make it out of here. Then what?”

“You gather what is left of the Inquisition,” Leliana replied simply. Ellis stumbled as they reached the bottom of the staircase. Leliana placed her hands against a worn, wooden door and pushed.

Fighting made more sense to Ellis. Running was not something that she was accustomed to. But leaving so that they could gather the Inquisition’s forces, gather reinforcements, and ensure that what happened to Cassandra and Iron Bull did not happen to anyone else? _That_ was something that made sense.

“Right,” Ellis said. “I understand that. We gather everyone together and defeat the Elder One. That’s not so different than what we were doing before. We win this war.”

Leliana laughed, high and loud. The scars on her face twisted into a cruel smile. “Do you _still_ not understand, Herald?”

Ellis looked around the room. It looked like a corridor. But instead of twisting hallways leading elsewhere, each side was lined with iron bars. Each room overflowed with red lyrium. _Cells_. Leliana had brought them to the dungeons.

“There is no winning anymore.” Leliana squeezed Ellis’s palm, the one that held the mark, and said, “You use _this_ to make them pay for taking the world.”

 _“Yes!_ ’ A voice above them shouted. _“This door is open! They went this way!”_

 _“_ Youand the mage failed to return to your time,” Leliana said. She dropped Ellis’s hand away and walked forward, searching. “The mark is all that matters now, and I will notallow the Elder One take it.”

Ellis stared at Dorian desperately. He stood there blankly.

Leliana dropped to her hands and knees. She pulled at the rubble at the end of the hall. She tugged at the planks of wood that had fallen. “It has to be here,” she murmured.

Thunder. Ellis turned her head. _No_ , it wasn’t thunder. It was the horde that had been following them, rounding corridors, and hurrying down the staircase.

“They’re coming,” Ellis said. She looked over her shoulder at Leliana. Her arms were elbow deep in the rubble, tossing rocks and pulling stones aside. “Leliana? I said they’re coming!”

Ellis unstrapped her sword from her back. She gripped the hilt tightly in both of her hands. Her arms burned from running, her hand stung, but at least she was standing. At least she was holding a sword.

If there was to be a fight, she would face it as Cassandra had.

She stood in front of the doorway. She stood, eyes trained on the wooden door, waiting for it to burst open. She stood waiting for the demons and men to pour through.

She would stand as Iron Bull had. She would stand and not fall until Terror itself was clawing its way through her armor and skin.

The first sounds of demons scraping their long nails against stone walls reached Ellis’s ears.

She adjusted her hand on her hilt.

This was it. She had time to catch her breath now. She had time, and she would stand and fight while—

“We haven’t the time for you to play hero!” Leliana grabbed Ellis and yanked her to the ground. She pointed at the hole she had created in the rubble. “You need to go through!”

Ellis scrapped her palms on the rock and wood. She reached for her sword.

“Is this what you want so badly?” Leliana picked up her sword and tossed it through the hole. “Then get it and leave me to them!”

Ellis stared at her. “But I want to help—”

 _“They’re in here! I hear them! They’re in_ here _!”_

No time. There was no time. The door had burst open, and behind a man towered a terror demon. Its claws were raised high. And behind that demon? Ellis couldn’t see, but there were movements, and it didn’t sound good. Clawing. Screaming. Cries.

“Then go,” Leliana pleaded. She turned her back on Ellis. “ _Go_ , Herald.”

Ellis scrambled forward, armor scratching against the rocks, legs kicking out and pushing her through the small hole in the rubble that Leliana had created.

_“They’re getting away!”_

Leliana grabbed Dorian next. She pushed him to towards the hole with such force that he fell more than crawled into the small cavern. Ellis reached out and tugged him through it, though he had a much easier time scrambling through it than her.

“ _Grab them!_ ”

“Leliana—” Ellis held her hands out through the hole towards the other woman, “Leliana, c’mon!”

Leliana tossed her bow aside. There were too many making their way through the door.

Ellis kicked and scratched and tried to make the hole bigger. “There’s enough time!” she shouted, panic making her chest tight.

Leliana reached into her boot and pulled out a dagger. She held it in one hand, and placed one foot in front of the other carefully.

“ _Leliana_ ,” Ellis cried out.

The first man didn’t know what he was doing. He stepped forward, sword held high, intent upon meeting Leliana’s blade. But his stance was off. Ellis could tell. With one swift kick, his feet were knocked out from under him, and Leliana cut him open.

She darted around the next man who approached her, slicing through his throat cleanly. He hadn’t even realized that Leliana had moved behind him.

The next man who tried to attack was met with a knife wedged deeply between his ribs. He slid off of Leliana’s dagger.

More demons were streaming into the room. Leliana attacked, darting between them, stabbing where she could, dodging when they tried to hit her, but it was becoming too much.

“Dorian—” Ellis said desperately. It was happening again. Leliana was being overwhelmed just as Cassandra and Iron Bull had. “Dorian, _do_ something!”

But Dorian stared straight forward, mouth closed in a thin line as the demons surrounded Leliana.

“We have to help her!”

Leliana’s dagger was caught in one of the demons. She yanked at it, pulled at it, and stayed in one spot for a moment too long. A terror demon swiped wide with its claws and hit her full force in the chest. She fell to the ground, skidded, coughing.

Ellis threw out her hand. She stretched her palm wide. She waited for the green light to emit from it, to surround the demons, to pull them, to give Leliana enough time to crawl through the hole into the cavern that she and Dorian were crouched in.

 _Nothing_.

Ellis scratched at her palm. She pulled at the skin. She dug her fingernails into the flesh. It hurt, it stung, but she needed her hand to work.

She threw it out again, channeling all of her hope, all of the stubbornness and determination she felt into it. She imagined the feelings streaming down her arm, into her palm. She imagined the green glow enveloping them all. She pictured it and held the image in her mind.

“Please!” she cried out to no one in particular. “ _Please_!” She smacked her palm against the stones. They cut into it, made her hand bleed, but _nothing_ happened.

Leliana was silent. She reached into her cloak. To pull out another dagger? That must be what it was. That must be what Leliana was doing. She would pull out another dagger from _somewhere_ in her cloak and she would be able to dart between all of the demons and _kill_ them.

Leliana stood, steady on her feet. She wasn’t holding a dagger. The round, metal ball in her hands was something Ellis had seen Varric and Sera use dozens of times before. Leliana gave it a small shake, and then stepped forward, closer to the demons.

“ _Leliana—_ ”

She looked serene. Despite the scars, the dirt, the guts and blood covering her clothes, she looked peaceful. “Maker guide you,” she said.

There was an explosion. Ellis couldn’t hear the demons screaming over the sound of the room collapsing, over wood and stone falling, over red lyrium shattering.

And then it was dark. Quiet. Ellis could only hear her own breath.

No demons. No men rushing through the halls. No weapons meeting other weapons. None of Leliana’s grunts as she fired an arrow or dug her dagger into an enemy.

“Dorian?” Ellis whispered. She couldn’t see. She could barely hear. And she was almost too afraid to ask.

She scrambled over to where she thought Dorian might be. She coughed. There was dust everywhere. She couldn’t see it but she could taste it coating her mouth and her throat. Ashes and acid. It was hot and it made it difficult to breathe. “Dorian?” she asked again. “Are you okay? Please say that you’re all right.”

“I….” She heard him heave a sigh. “I am _fine_.”

Fire emitted from one of his hands, lighting the small cavern. She squinted, eyes adjusting. She saw him stuff a pendant into one of the pockets of his robes.

“Are you okay?” Ellis repeated. “Are you hurt?”

Maker, if Dorian was hurt…if he couldn’t….Ellis closed her eyes tightly.

He gave a hollow laugh. “No. I only…I thought it would work.”

Ellis shifted so that she was sitting next to him. She had to crouch. There wasn’t much room in the passage, and her head scraped against the ceiling. She leaned back against the wall, but every creek, every groan of the stones and wood, reminded her of demons stirring just beyond the rubble.

“Now what?” Dorian asked. He coughed loudly, dust in his own lungs. “What was the grand plan? Saving the world or some such? That’s turning out _terribly_ well so far.”

Ellis looked at her hands. They were dirty. They were covered in a dark, sticky substance that came from the demons. But mostly, there was dried blood under her fingernails, and desperate wounds on the palm of her left hand.

 _Cassandra’s_. Some of that blood was Cassandra’s. What would Cassandra have said and done?

What did Leliana want?

“Well,” Ellis said, head spinning, “I guess we keep on moving forward.”

He gave her a lopsided grin that held no warmth, and repeated the words he had first spoken when they found themselves in this dark future. “I’m right behind you.”


	3. Heaven has been filled with silence

At times, when Ellis pulled herself through the collapsed corridor, rocks scraping her bare skin, dirty water dripping down her neck, she caught herself looking for Iron Bull.

The cavern was dark. Even with the dim light from Dorian’s staff, Ellis could barely see her hands and hardly make out what she was grabbing ahold of. Her eyes filled the darkness with strange colors, but there was a glint of light at the end of the tunnel. She and Dorian worked towards it, wrestling their tired bodies forward. When that little light become obstructed by the debris, Ellis would catch herself thinking it was Bull’s hulking form in front of her, squeezing his way between the stones

_“You gonna lag behind all day, boss?”_

But he wasn’t here to speak. Bull wasn’t here anymore.

“Do you think it’s much further?” Ellis asked Dorian, twisting her neck around painfully to look at him.

Light reflected off of one of the _many_ buckles that comprised of Dorian’s robes. It reminded Ellis of how the light would bounce off of Cassandra’s armor when they had crawled through a cave in the Hinterlands.

Ellis bit her lip hard, and turned forward quickly.

“I’m sorry,” Dorian drawled, “It must have slipped my mind to pick up a map during our horrific adventure in the castle.”

Ellis snorted. For a moment, she thought she heard a bubble of Leliana’s high laugh. But it was only water trickling down the walls of the cavern. They must’ve been under the lake that surrounded Redcliffe Castle.

Maybe at one point, this corridor had been large enough room for a man in full plate armor (or a rather tall woman in Ellis’s case) to walk through comfortably. Maybe a year ago, it had resembled the secret passage into Redcliffe Castle that Leliana had spoken of. But now, it was nothing more than a cramped cavern.

The drops from the ceiling made her hair a tangled mess. They mixed with the dust that covered her skin, only to dry and crack and itch. Ellis wanted to scratch the dried mud. She wanted to pull her tangled hair away from her face, to brush away the drops of water, to peel her sweat-soaked linens away from her skin, but there wasn’t enough _room_ let alone _time_ to stop.

Leliana’s sacrifice had stopped the demons from pursuingthem. The planks that held back stone creaked and moaned in ways that reminded Ellis of the demons they were fleeing from. So far, neither she nor Dorian had heard any groans other than their own, and the only sound of scratching was that of their fingernails against stone.

Ellis tried to not think how much longer the peace would last. She tried to not think about what lay beyond the cavern. What would happen if she and Dorian were surrounded by demons as Bull and Cassandra had been? As Leliana had been?

Would she have the strength to stand as they had? Or would she keep running?

“ _Kaffas_ ,” Dorian swore.

Ellis tried to crane her neck, but winced. She was sore in places she hadn’t known existed, and she _longed_ to take off her heavy armor. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

The light from Dorian’s staff faltered. He had not complained about being tired out loud, but neither had Ellis. They were plunged into darkness, and Ells blinked, unable to tell the difference between open eyes and her eyelids shut tightly.

She heard the clink of glass next to her. “Wait—” Ellis said, reaching out blindly, trying to feel for Dorian’s hand.

“We can’t see a damn thing,” Dorian argued, popping the cork on the bottle.

It wasn’t a health potion. Ellis was sure of that. Despite their scratches and bruises, they weren’t _injured_. Lyrium then? Was Dorian reaching for lyrium? “You should save it,” Ellis argued. She was frowning, though she doubted Dorian could tell in the dark. “We don’t know what’ll be waiting outside for us.”

“It will be nothing good, I can assure you,” Dorian spat, raising the vial to his lips.

“Just—” Ellis sighed. “Let me try something first.”

Ellis stared at where she thought her hand was. If she could make the mark flare to life, they would be able to see. It should be an easy task. She imagined the scar on her hand opening like a rift in the sky. She pictured green light pouring out, illuminating the cavern. She shut her eyes tightly, willed her limited energy forward, felt her hand get warmer and tingle and—

Nothing.

Dorian drank the lyrium and tossed the vial aside.

“Let’s just go,” Ellis growled, pushing forward, able to see somewhat once again.

“That was my intent,” Dorian responded, following behind her. The light from his staff spread throughout the darkened portions of the cabin. Their backs began to straighten as the cavern expanded. “Believe it or not, I prefer rushing into the perilous unknown to running away from it.”

She wasn’t sure how long they had been walking, backs hunched over, or crawling, elbows and knees scraping the ground. The floor began to steadily pitch upwards. Ellis found herself pulling _up_ instead of across, as she had been for Maker knew how long. It was almost a relief, to see the light at the end of the tunnel get larger.

But her stomach squirmed when she began to picture what might await them outside, but she pushed down the well of feelings lest they make her sick. They didn’t have _time_ for any nonsense.

She picked up her pace. They were almost out. They were almost through. They were almost done with this damned castle, this nightmare where her friends were dead. She was sure that if they just got through this passage, if they just got a little further, she and Dorian would find what was left of the Inquisition and fix things.

Ellis hurried up the wall. She forced her fingers into uncomfortable holds, twisted her wrist, and wrenched her shoulder as she carelessly pulled herself up. Her boots slipped against stone. Her climbing was sloppy, too eager to reach the surface. To feel warm sun against her face. To fill her lungs with something other than dirty, acidic air.

She could hear Cassandra telling her to be cautious. She could hear Leliana warning her to wait and be quiet. She could hear Bull laughing at her, telling her to slow down.

But they were gone, and Ellis didn’t want to listen to ghosts anymore.

When Ellis reached the top, she rolled more than stood at the edge of the cavern. Her body felt cramped and cried out in pain when she stretched, fingers reaching for the sky high above her head. But it was worth it. If she never crawled through a cavern again, she would die happy.,

Dorian grunted somewhere below her, and she quickly tossed an arm over the edge to help him up. But he waved her off and pulled himself up with an undignified noise. “I never thought I’d be glad to smell fresh Ferelden air.”

The sunlight wasn’t warm. If you could even call the smoky haze that hung in the air sunlight. It stung her eyes. And the air certainly wasn’t fresh. It was less acidic, less stale, but it tasted foul on Ellis’s tongue.

The longer she stood at the edge of the collapsed windmill, the more worried Ellis became. Her hand drifted towards her greatsword. This…wasn’t right.

Redcliffe Village had never been impressive to Ellis. She had never thought it was quaint. It was a backwards Ferelden arling, with huts that had moss for roofs. It had a pub and a Chantry—the two locations that seemed practically a requirement or Ferelden towns. It had been disappointing when she first visited. She had expected a small, bustling city. She had expected something that felt like _home_ , that felt like Ostwick. Redcliffe had been nothing like the busy city by the sea that Ellis had grown up in. The cliffs that surrounded Redcliffe were nothing like the double walls that surrounded Ostwick. The lake had been minuscule compared to the ocean by her city.

But whatever she had thought of Redcliffe Village, she’d never wanted this. She had never imagined that it would have changed so much.

There were no houses covered in green moss. Half-collapsed tents replaced them, white linen molded and greyed. There were no statues of the Hero of Ferelden. There were only crooked Inquisition banners sticking out of paths turned into mud puddles. There were no villagers milling around and no laughter—only empty helmets and discarded weapons.

Ellis stepped forward. She had thought…Leliana had said to find the rest of the Inquisition.

Did they even exist anymore?

There was a crunch under her foot as she stepped on an old sword that had been made brittle by fire. 

If the Inquisition wasn’t here, with the remains of their weapons and banners, where were they?

“Perhaps it was foolish,” Dorian said, picking up a discarded mage’s staff. The wood was blackened, and it hung uselessly in his hands. “But I had hoped…it doesn’t matter.”

Ellis picked up one of the helmets on the ground. It was the same sort that she wore. Except this one had a dent, with a puncture in the center, and scratches all around.

_The terror demon raised its hands high, ready to claw and scratch at Bull’s body._

Ellis tossed the helmet away. “Me too,” she murmured.

There were pits. Ellis did not bother to look over the edge. Smoke and singed hair wafted towards her. Maybe they held the bright red of Varric’s tunic, or the burned remains of the pack that Solas always carried on her back?

 _No_ , she didn’t want to picture them dead. Cassandra, Bull, and Leliana already haunted her.

“I guess this means we can’t stop here,” Dorian said quietly. There were no places to camp. And they was so near the castle, Ellis couldn’t imagine it would be safe to stay.

“No,” Ellis agreed, “We can’t stop here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week, Ellis and Dorian attempt to camp.


	4. the winds did quiet

The closest Inquisition camp, as Ellis remembered, was south of Redcliffe Village.

No, it was east.

Maybe it was _southeast_?

Ellis did not stop walking. No, walking was too generous of a word. She had to will herself to pick up each leg. She forced herself to lean forward. She let her foot drop to the ground out of exhaustion. Repeat. She dragged herself. Dorian followed. Despite their slow pace, neither one of them paused their hike, because it was far easier to march than to rest.

Resting would give Ellis time to think.

If she stopped, Ellis was sure the well of emotions churning inside of her would bubble to the surface. They caught her unaware in the still moments. The second she took to catch her breath before starting another uphill climb. The moment her hand slipped from a rock and her heart stopped. When she stumbled to the ground and wanted to stay there. Those were when the sick feeling in her stomach took over her and she felt paralyzed.

It would begin in her hands. They'd shake; a small, little tremor that was easily hidden. Her fingers would feel light, her wrists heavy, and her elbows locked. Her breath came shallow, her feet weighed her down, floating and falling.

Ellis stopped at the foot of the last hill they had to climb. She took a breath, and—

Had Cassandra been breathing when Leliana told Ellis to leave? Cassandra had been warm to the touch, maybe she’d—

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Dorian called out.

Ellis hadn’t even checked to see if Bull was alive. She’d taken Leliana’s word and left. Shouldn’t she have checked? Bull would’ve checked _her_ —

“Because,” Dorian called up the mountain path she’d started on, “From _this_ poor vantage point it looks as though we’re headed towards the top of nowhere.”

Ellis stopped. She stared at Dorian, mind blanking, empty for a moment, before she frowned at him and asked, “Do you have a betteridea?”

“Oh, no,” Dorian responded cheerily, “Of course not. Wandering the wilderness sounds delightful.”

Ellis turned on her heel. She slipped over the rocky outcrops of the path they climbed together. When she couldn't force her feet to march further, calves burning, body aching, she reached forward and grabbed a low tree branch. It was dead, and wet, like something rotting and putrid, but she used it to hoist herself up.

“Almost there,” Ellis called out. It was more for her own comfort than Dorian’s.

“Wonderful,” Dorian responded. He matched her pace instead of lagging behind. “I’m looking forward—”

There was…she was sure…the camp _had_ to be here.

She hurried forward—too tired to truly run. She scanned the flattened spot feverishly. There was nothing. There was _nothing_ here. Only a pile of rotting firewood and an empty fire pit. No tents. No tables full of parchments and potions. No banners. Nothing that indicated anyone had ever even slept here.

Dorian planted the edge of his staff into the soft soil and leaned against it. He frowned at her, and asked, “Are you certain—”

“Yes!” Ellis snapped. “ _Yes_ , I am certain!”

Dorian raised one careful eyebrow at her. The effect was slightly diminished by the flakes of dried mud sticking to his face and hair.

She…she’d thought the camp was here. It had to be. It _had to_.  She tried to picture the map Cassandra had spread out across the war table. The Seeker had earned a dirty look from _both_ Josephine and the Commander when she’d knocked over their markers in her haste. It had made Ellis snort, which in turn earned _her_ a glare from Cassandra.

Cassandra had jabbed an angry finger into the map where each camp was located. She had _drilled_ Ellis on each spot for a whole afternoon.

The Commander, standing at one corner of the table, nose pressed against a report, had chuckled at each one of Ellis’s dramatic sigh. He’d tried to cover it with a cough, but Ellis had been listening.

She wished she could remember the Commander's laugh now. She had enjoyed it. She remembered that much.

“It was here,” Ellis murmured. There was a shake in her voice. A waver that almost sounded like a choke.

Leliana had told her to find what was left of the Inquisition. She'd practically _ordered_ Ellis. But there wasn’t anyone left outside of Redcliffe Castle. It looked as though this camp had been long abandoned.

Where were they? Was Josephine even alive anymore? Was the Commander—

Her throat felt tight. It felt closed and tight and the panic that exhaustion had smoothed away began to rise.

“It was here a year ago,” Dorian corrected her.

She balled her hands into tight fists. _Stop_ , she ordered herself. Stop thinking. Stop picturing Josephine’s toothy smile. Stop trying to remember the Commander’s half-smirk. Don’t think about Iron Bull’s body. Don’t remember the warm blood pouring from Cassandra’s head. Stop. Stop _. Stop_.

Ellis circled the empty fire pit. She paced back and forth.

She remembered sitting here. She tried to not. But she _remembered_ it. She had sat on this stone during her first journey into the Hinterlands. There was a little break in the rock closest to the fire pit. She’d traced the crack with her fingers while Solas and Varric talked about books.

She’d been practically wiggling in her seat, itching to jump in, but the words dried up in her mouth.

It was Varric who noticed her lurking. He smiled at her and asked her what she thought of tricksters. Varric Tethras, famed author, had asked _her_ what she thought about _literature_.

Where were they now? She’d half hoped to find Solas and Varric casually sitting on these stones. Cassandra wouldn’t be there though. Cassandra—

Ellis took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Well,” Dorian announced, giving Ellis a start. “The Inquisition doesn’t appear to be here _now_.”

She felt lost. Empty. Most of all, tired. She didn’t have the energy to argue that it didn’t _feel_ like a year ago. She only sighed, and agreed, "It was a year ago. They were here a year ago."

Dorian stalked around the edge of the camp. He would close his eyes, pause, then move again. Doing some odd, _mage-y_ thing probably. Ellis didn’t know. She stood uselessly. A common theme for her it seemed.

“I assume we will camp here,” Dorian remarked, plopping down on one of the stones.

Ellis frowned at him. She sat on the ground across from him. Her armor—bent out of shape from the crawl through the cavern—made an unnecessary racket that echoed around the campsite.

She never remembered the Hinterlands being so _quiet_.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“What do _I_ think?” Dorian repeated. “You’ve traveled here more often than I.”

Ellis snorted. “Yeah, because _three trips_ to the Hinterlands makes me a native.”

“A veritable expert,” Dorian drawled.

Ellis felt her lips twitch. “Then…” she hesitated.

It was late. At least Ellis thought it was. It was difficult to tell. Had the sun ever truly risen? What was left of it was quickly disappearing behind the red cliffs. Once, it used to cast a golden light across the landscape, and warm Ellis’s face before it fully set. Now it felt colder. Darker. The light from the sun was a muddy brown as though the green shine of the expanded Breach mixed with the last of the sun’s rays and turned it all into something…something dead. Brown and dirty and ruined.

It was cold. And quiet. Could she even hike the ten miles to the next camp if she wanted to?

“I think we should stay here,” Ellis finished. “For now.”

“Good,” Dorian agreed immediately. He sounded relieved. Tired, but relieved. Even though he wasn’t carrying however many pounds of armor that she was, it didn’t meant that he too wasn’t exhausted.

They sat awkwardly. Ellis drummed her armored fingers against the metal covering her knee caps. Dorian stared at the dirt underneath his clipped fingernails.

Maybe Ellis should have brought Solas and Varric to the castle with her. Would things have turned out differently? Ellis hoped they were in this world. She felt wretched and awful for it; Cassandra had said everyone was as good as dead. But still, Ellis _wished_ they were alive. She wished Cassandra and Bull were here too and not cold and dead and _left behind_ , how could she have listened to Leliana and _left them_ —

“I suppose,” Dorian announced loudly, interrupting her thoughts again, “We should make a fire.”

Ellis opened her eyes. When had she squeezed them shut? Her hands gripped her longsword tightly. She tried to relax them. She stretched her fingers out and rolled her neck, hoping Dorian had not noticed how tense she was. “I guess we should.”

Neither one of them moved from their respective rocks.

That evening, Ellis learned that Dorian was as useless at making campfires as she.

Ellis eventually dragged herself off of the rock she was sitting on. She’d gathered the drier sticks she managed to find—everything here seemed to be coated in a layer of putrid water or slime. It left green mossy stains on her once pristine and polished armor.

No matter, really. It was dented and scratched to the point that Harriet would give her a lecture if she ever saw him again.

_If if if._ How long ago had her mind made the switch from when?

She used unsteady hands to assemble the poor excuse for firewood into a pyramid shape. She had watched Blackwall do so a dozen times. But she couldn’t get the sticks to stand up properly. They sank into the mud and her tired, shaking hands knocked them over in the moments that her exhaustion overwhelmed her.

Dorian, for his part, tried to create a spark. But it only caused a thick, gray smoke to engulf both of them.

Ellis had her suspicions he was a lot more tired than he was letting on. She’d seen Solas hold fire in the palm of his hand and Vivienne produce sparks from her staff. She’d seen Dorian create a _wall_ of fire before. But a seemingly simple task like making a campfire seemed out of his reach in this state.

She couldn’t blame him. She couldn’t even muster an annoyed look. If it came to it, she wasn’t sure if she’d been any good at swinging her sword. Was making a fire so different?

Dorian waved his hands dramatically, coughing at the gray smoke that wafted towards him. “I was an a _ltus_ in the Tevinter Imperium!”

Ellis wrinkled her nose. The smoke stung her eyes. It reminded her of the fire pits they had seen on the outskirts of Redcliffe Castle.

“I don’t even know what that means,” she said.

“An altus?” He asked. “It is—it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’ve never _needed_ to make something like a _campfire_. Besides,” Dorian added, nodding towards Ellis’s arms wrapped tightly around herself to keep out the cold, “Have your arms suddenly dropped off? Can’t _you_ make a fire?”

Ellis grumbled a few words under her breath. She scuffed the ground with her boot, but it only caused mud to splatter over her.

“You’ll have to speak louder,” Dorian said. “I think have mud in my ears. And other places.”

Ellis tried to glare at him. His face didn’t even twitch. “I don’t know _how_ ,” she spat.

Someone had always been around to build a fire for her. She lived in an estate on a hill and her family had dozens of servants. If Ellis was cold, a fire was made. Simple as that. After being drafted into the Inquisition, traveling across the Hinterlands, the Storm Coast, Fallow Mire...well, there'd always been someone else around to make her a fire. Blackwall, Bull, Solas, Cassandra….

At least two of them were dead. And the rest?

She shivered harder in the cold. It didn’t matter how tightly she wrapped her arms around herself.

“Can’t you—can’t you just _magic_ something?” Ellis asked. “Use one of your lyrium potions or whatever?”

“What happened to Lady Conserve-Your-Lyrium-We-May-Need-It?”

“She got _cold_ ,” Ellis grumbled.

Dorian laughed at that. But the rocks bounced the sound back and twisted it into a low rumble. A rumble like the demons that had chased them through Redcliffe Castle.

She unwrapped one of her arms around herself and let her hand rest on the sword next to her.

The trees used to rustle in the wind. But there wasn’t a breeze anymore. Ellis guessed she should be grateful for that—surely it would only make everything colder. But as Dorian leaned his back against one of the rocks and closed his eyes, Ellis wished for some sort of noise. Something other than silence.

She’d thought the sound of the leaves, the hooting owls, the babble of a nearby brook—she’d thought it all was annoying the first time she’d camped in the Hinterlands. She’d longed to ditch the dirt ground and scratchy blanket for a feathered bed.

But sitting on a cold stone, no warm fire, no laughter from her friends, she felt a pang of sorrow. And guilt. She wished for anything that would make her think that she and Dorian weren’t the only two souls left in this world.

There was that feeling again. Throat tight. Breaths becoming more shallow. Her arms felt light and heavy at the same time, and she tried, she _tried_ so hard to keep thoughts of her companions away from her mind.

Leliana had said they were dead. She should’ve checked. She should’ve stayed. She should’ve done something other than wishing that her hand would work when Leliana told her to _leave_. She had a sword. Why hadn’t she used it?

What if Cassandra and Bull had been the only ones left? What if—

“I’ll take the first watch.”

Ellis jumped at Dorian’s voice. She looked over, and the mage stared at her. His own hands were wrapped around his staff, just as Ellis’s clung to her sword.

“What?”

He used the staff to heave himself up. He took a step towards her steadily. Slow, yes, but his knees didn't buckle under the weight of his own body. He sat next to her and repeated, "I'll take first watch."

Ellis snorted. “There's no point. I’m not going to get any sleep.”

Dorian gave her a lopsided grin. “And you think I will?”

"I suppose," she said, "An _antlus_ needs at least half a dozen pillows to sleep properly, hm?"

"An _altus_ ," he laughed.

She felt a little warmer with Dorian sitting next to her. The silence didn’t seem so eerie with his laughter next to her. It made her feel a little less alone. Maybe even a little hopeful.

“Tomorrow,” Ellis announced with a firm voice she didn't think she still had, “Tomorrow, we’ll head to that settlement not too far from here. I think I remember where it was on the map.”

Dorian rested his staff against a rock, careful to make sure no mud was on it, before crossing his own arms in front of himself to keep warm. “Tomorrow, Herald.”


End file.
